Gone
by Lidsworth
Summary: Three years ago, Asami ended his relationship with Akihito in order to marry and produce an heir for Sion. Three years later, his son has been murdered, and all evidence regarding the killer points to Akihito. Against his better judgment, Asami makes the blond pay, and as a result, loses more than he had lost in the first place. But gains a little more in the end.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **

**Summary: ****Three years ago, Asami kicked Takaba out of the penthouse, in order to marry, and produce an heir for his company. Three years later, his young son has been murdered, and all evidence regarding the killer points to the eccentric photographer. However, Akihito has steered clear of Asami since their breakup, and expected to older man to do the same. Only, Asami wants him to suffer for a crime he did not commit, and is willing to do anything it takes to make the photograph pay.**

**Just a warning, if you do not like an overload of angst, I don't read this. I am warning you, if you're coming to hate, than you will find a lot to hate, because there are a lot of unanswered questions. If you do not like Aki being tortured by a deranged Asami, or vice versa, than I repeat DO NOT READ IT! It isn't exactly for the "faint of heart", because while it will have a "happy" ending, the ending doesn't come till the end of the story! I'm waning you now, this...is a little messed up, this story. If you don't want to see a traumatized Akihito, than I wouldn't read it, or a depressed Asami, or an "abused" child, I wouldn't read it!**

**If you stayed, well, kudos**

**Anyway, i've always wanted to write something like this. Originally, I posted it to ao3, but I decided to give it a try here. If I get good feed back, i'll continue it on here, if you guys absolutely hate it, i'll take it down. This was inspired by Philip Philips song "Gone".**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Finder Series. **

A pail of ice cold water splashed over the photographers dirty head. Cool tendrils of liquid soaked his blood stained shirt, and dribbles of water crashed to the concrete ground.

His arms ached from their prolonged position of being tied to the back of very uncomfortable, wooden chair.

His head was slumped over, and ached with an edging pain.

"I'll ask you again." Came the silky voice, "Why did you ___kill _him?"

It had been like this for hours. The same damn question, the same damn response...didn't this man tire of the endless cycle.

"I-I t-told you, you bastard! I d-din't k-kill y-you're d-damn son!" Croaked the photographer, as he struggled to look up at the older man. However, It was too no avail. His head slumped down, and his chin hit his chest softly.

"___Don't" _hissed Asami, as he leaned down, and tilted Takaba's chair towards him "address ___him _like that!"

The vile hate in Asami's voice was enough to make Akihito sick, but the fact that the resent was directed towards him was enough to make the photographer want to puke.

The pain of being replaced weighed heavily on his conscience, and far outshone the physical pain that he was currently being subjected to.

When Asami had left him three years ago-more like to him to get out-apart of his heart still clung to the older man. He still loved him, and the love was like a burning fire. It was eating away at Akihito, burning his hollow wood like a red blaze to a dry forest.

When Asami had married, and gotten his wife pregnant, and had a child...Takaba allowed the agonizing flames to lick his body, and peel away at the skin, carving a crater in his chest and allowing his broken heart to spill out.

He avoided Shinjuki like the plague, and avoided all jobs that took place there. He wanted to give up photography anyway.

A rough shake to his body jerked him back into reality. Asami's large hand had clawed into the tender muscle of his shoulder.

"___Look at me!" _Growled the older man, though his voice cracked with distress, "Why Akihito!? Why!"

Asami was delusional, he was hysterical. Whoever set Akihito up, had provided clean evidence that consisted of a video...

Evidence stood on Asami's side, while God stood on Akihito's. Given Takaba's battered state, the victor certainly wasn't the latter.

His eyes had gone slightly distant as he reminisced on the past, but a call to attention had garnered the little respect he had left for Asami.

"I told you," he croaked, as he bit back the aching pain, "I didn't hurt your son!"

Asami inhaled sharply, and closed his eyes tightly. Bringing a shaky hand to the bridge of his nose, Asami stood up.

"I want you to pay for what you did-"  
"I didn't do a fucking thing! Stop making damn excuses! What would my motive be, huh! I wanted to get away from you Asami! Don't blame me for the death of your damn son! You're his father, it's not my fault his parents didn't give two shits about him! Just own up to-"  
Suddenly, the adrenaline died down, and was replaced with a raw, stinging sensation that tingled on his cheek.

He looked up in utter shock...Asami had hit him. Akihito looked up at his ex-lover's eyes and saw regret and betrayal swirling in those golden orbs. He didn't want to hurt him.

"A...sa-"

The older man silenced him.  
"You've done something to me, Akihito, that no one in this entire world has come close to doing. You see, I regret to say, I have fallen in love with you. That's right Akihito, I still love you. But the desire to make you suffer for what you took from me nearly overrides my urge to let you live..." the man ran a hand through his unkempt hair, "So your punishment no longer is in my hands, personally. I cannot kill you...and though I want to instill into you the same pain I've felt for these past few months, I can not. I will _never _be able to hurt you...However, I believe___they _can do the job better than I can."  
_They_ referred to the men who stood in the shadows of the dark room, watching the bloody scene from a safe distance. They were like hungry vultures. The minute that the lion left, would be the minute that they devoured Akihito whole. And he would be defenseless against their licentious motives.

Asami that bastard...he knew that too.

"I was willing to start everything over, Akihito," began the older man, as he made his way to leave the dark room, "I didn't love her, by the way. My son was a different story, however. I loved him...maybe more than I loved you. But your anger took him away from me."

Takaba didn't bother defending himself this time, as the scene felt entirely surreal.

This was wrong, it was vile, and cruel! Why the hell did bad things happen to him? He never asked for such a shitty life.

"If you're alive by the end of this, Akihito..."Asami's voice lowered drastically, and sounded rather distant.

He never finished his sentence, and the door shut with a "click".

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The boy's blood curdling screams filled the warehouse that night. At times, the sound was music to Asami's hungry ears. Other times, however, it sounded as if nails were being dragged along a chalk board. The noise was killing Asami, but the older man knew a punishment had to be carried out.

He wanted Takaba to suffer, yet he wanted him to live...He didn't know what he wanted anymore. The evidence had been presented to him, analyzed, and proven the murder to be Akihito himself. His source was trustworthy, in fact, it had been a family friend of Asami's and his ex-wife's.

They wouldn't lie to him, and perhaps this torment would force an answer, and a motive from Akihito's lying lips. He knew it wasn't in Akihito's nature to kill, but heartbreak drove even the most serene beings to made insanity.

But the screams were beginning to crawl under Asami's skin.

Whenever his emotions sought to destroy his resolve and to rescue Takaba, he willed his mind to present to him a photo of his late son, the child he never knew he wanted.

They hadn't even found the boy's body.

Takaba was a liar, and though it was so uncharacteristic of the photographer to harm another being, he had his jealousy to burn off of.

And Asami needed an answer. He was the father of a dead child, therefore, he needed closure.

Takaba offered just that.

The older man leaned against the wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his eyes were closed tightly as Takaba's screams grew louder.

Once or twice, the screaming stopped, and Asami's heart jumped slightly, only to resume it's pace when the screaming resumed.

The photographer was wailing himself hoarse as the men continued to hurt him. Asami knew what they were doing, and perhaps, three years earlier, he would have killed them for even looking at his Kitten. But times had changed, and Akihito needed to pay for his actions.

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Akihito had passed out from head trauma, physical trauma, a collapsed lung, and blood loss. His pants were at his ankles. Blood, and dry semen trickled down his bruised thighs. His shirt had been torn open, revealing bloody bite marks, and fresh hickies that had painted his pale chest. Once blue and vibrant, his eyes were now a pool of dull maroon. The pupils had lost their focus, and had morphed into a blank, distant state.

Takaba Akihito was gone, and his assaulters weren't even halfway through.

Despite their Boss' initial idea to allow these brutes to finish the photographer off, Kirishima and Suoh had put an abrupt stop to the barbaric act, and alerted Asami of his condition.

"Take him to a hospital." Said the golden eyed man, his voice smaller than usual, and slightly defeated, "Somewhere where I'll never see him again. And I advise you two to forget about him, forever." Asami left the warehouse after that.

And after clearing the room of the insane psychopaths that found such pleasure in tormenting Akihito in the first place, both bodyguards secured the broken form, and brought him to the a hospital outside of Tokyo.

He was bleeding everywhere, his body was bruised, and unrecognizable, completely unrecognizable.

That was the last they saw of Akihito.

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3 years later

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The young boy walked out of the storm, and into the old, two story house. The dim lights buzzed on the low ceilings, and somewhere in the home, the roof leaked onto the kitchen floor. The boy removed his muddy shoes, and stepped onto the wooden floor.

Above him, upstairs, the floor creaked loudly. He looked up, and noticed one of the lamps shaking.

A loud crack of thunder erupted through the sky, and even the boy jumped at the sound. The creaking increased, and grew faster in rate.

He sighed, and made his way up stairs. Each step sunk with his light weight, and he was surprised that the old staircase hadn't given out yet.

On his small adventure up the stairs, he could hear heavy drops of rain pelting the windows and the side of the house. From where he was, he could hear the leaking in the kitchen increased as the house was assaulted by another array of hail.

He would have to fix that later.

Finally, atop of the stairs, he stood at the end of the hallway, as the sound of senseless creaking echoed off of the walls. Above them, the light blinked dimly. Not because of the storm though, no. never.

He needed to change the bulb.

At the end of the hallway stood a long, wooden door. It belonged to the closet, and on the sides, stood two doors directly opposite of each other. The one on the left belonged to him, while the one on the left belonged to his psychotic room mate.

The thunder clapped again, and the house shook with its fury. Like expected, the creaking sped up tremendously. As he got closer to the room, he could hear the older man wailing from behind the door.

For as long as he could remember, Akihito had acquired a fear of loud noises, and from the few psychologist that they could afford, his condition had been a result of some sort of trauma.

Loud noises didn't phase the boy too much, though this storm happened to be a rather rambunctious sort of storm, one that he wasn't entirely used to.

He stood on his toes, fingered Akihito's metal door knob, and pushed.

Upon entering the room, the creaking of the floor, toppled with the rocking of the bed nearly outshone the loud thunder itself. With his head down, and arms wrapped around his knees, the blond man rocked back and fourth with a terrified fury. His knuckles were bone white as he locked them on his legs, and he muttered something inaudible as he continued his rocking.

The light was bright, so bright that it was sickening. Dust had flown through the rays, as the old fan spun slowly. The metal string dangled back and fourth, clicking against the glass.

He needed to fix that now.

Slowly, and carefully, he walked over to the shivering form on the bed. He was careful not to approach him to fast, as his three years of living with the unstable man had told him of the horrors that his mood swings brought on.

"Akihito," Called the child, as he placed a gentle hand on the young man's leg, "why don't you move to my room. I need to fix your light."  
The photographer responded with a shake of his head, and all the while, refused to look up at the boy.

The young child sighed, "Akihito, if you don't go, it's going to get dark when I take the light bulb out, and you'll be scared. Just go to my room and turn the light on...please?"

The rocking on the bed increased, and the adolescent child was certain he had just lost his battle.

"Fine, stay in here for all I care." He pouted, as he searched the small room for a ladder, or a chair he could stand on top of.

The brown walls gave the room a rather large illusion, as it wasn't entirely that big. Opposite from the door was the window, which was slightly open, though no light, nor stars could be seen in the sky. Under the window was a heavy wooden desk, and a chair. The youth walked over the the large, wooden structure, grabbed at the back of the wooden chair, and pulled it under the fan, where the light buzzed with burning anticipation.

It was going to go out, so he needed to do this quickly.

However, even with the chair stacked up under the light, he was still too short to unscrew the light. He looked at the figure huddling in the bed.

Now Takaba's was looking straight at him, his cold blue eyes guessing what the boy might do next. At full height, Takaba would have no problem unscrewing the bulb. But since the two had fallen short of means to purchase Akihito's medicine, he'd been spending most of his time in bed where he couldn't hurt anyone, or himself.

That being said, the task of changing the light bulb remained with the boy, and the boy alone. So with all the strength that his little, malnourished arms could provide, he pushed the desk off of the wall, and into the center of the room, thus knocking the chair out of the way.

Using the chair, he climbed onto the wooden seat, and then onto the slick surface of the desk. There were professional pictures of people, and places crunching under his feet, and if the former photographer had any discomfort about the boy stepping over his work, he showed no signs of protest.

He only looked on.

Tall enough to now grab the light, the boy stretched his arm up, and his thin fingers slowly made their way towards the burning, bright bulb.

Lightning cracked like a hot whip through the sky, and instantly, a flash of light erupted throughout the house. The light-bulb gave out one final flash before dying seconds after the lighting strike.

The boy's fingers had lightly brushed the hot glass surface, and instantly, he recoiled them. He cursed himself for forgetting the fire that burned within the bulbs.

But scorched finger tips were the least of his problems now. The room was dark, and the creaking had started back up, but only for a second. The bed squealed one last time, as a heavy weight was lifted off of it, and bare feet made contact with the wooden ground.

The boy's heart stopped suddenly, as Akihito rarely left the bed now a days.

Darkness was the ex-photographer's mortal enemy. He felt defenseless in it, and now surrounded by it, he needed to find away out.

The lighting flashed again, and the youth noticed the older man gone, out of the room and sprinting down the hallway.

"Dammit Akihito!" He jumped off of the desk, nearly missing the chair that was cloaked in darkness. Through the obscurity, he groped for the way out of the room.

The thunder shook nearly half a minute after the lightning struck. The rattling of the house nearly caused him to lose his balance.

Another strike, and his head was out of the door. Akihito was nearing the stairs at an incredibly fast rate, and the boy was struggling to keep up.

Another soundless strike, and Akihito had darted down the staircase. The boy believed he was further than he actually was, and when the explosion in the sky sounded seconds after the lightening struck, he tripped over his limps as he delve forward.

The dark haired child hurled down the wooden staircase in a bunch of tousled limbs.

Now his body was laying motionlessly on the cold, wooden floor. The fall had knocked the air out of tiny lungs, and even the smallest movement of a muscle caused pain to radiate through his entire being.. His head throbbed with pain, and his back was in agony. He forced an eye open, and cringed at the loud buzzing in his ears.

Another lighting flash, and Akihito was running to the kitchen. The boy screamed in annoyance, and forced his tattered body to its feet, thus following his adult roommate.

It took him a little longer than expected, and he thought he twisted his ankle. He tried to stand, and fell. He repeated the action, only to follow again.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, he bit his lip, and forced himself to limp.

The delayed explosion rattled the foundation once more, but this time, the boy's slow pace kept him at bay.

The rain beat on the house, the distant thunder rumbled, and with a defining limp, small child groped his way into the kitchen. His hand shot to the light switch that was low enough for him to reach, but incidentally, he forgot about their power outage.

The switch clicked, but the power did not.

In the kitchen, the natural sounds from the storm were somewhat muted, though the boy could hear them if he strained his ears enough. No, the outside sounds weren't too loud, instead the boy heard the dripping of the leak, and the breathing of a very terrified, very dangerous Takaba Akihito.

The youth began feeling along the wooden cabinets in an attempt to touch his friend. He did so with a sort of caution though, as Akihito was very unstable, and was at his worse when he was surrounded by darkness.

"Drip...drip...drip..." The water splattered onto the ground, and the noise made it hard to hear the breathing, but his forced his ears to discern the sound from the leak.

The breathing was muffled, erratic and terrified. It was close.

"Takaba." Whispered the child, as he stopped in his place, and listened for the ragged breath. It seemed to be everywhere around the small room. It bounced off of the kitchen walls, off of the sink, and fell in tandem with the steady dripping of the leak

The boy gulped, and proceeded with outstretched arms, and a tiny limp with each step. Once or twice he thought he brushed the straw fabric that made Takaba's clothing, but was relieved to discover it was just a hanging kitchen towel, or a dirty rag that was draped over the counter.

Silent thunder rumbled, and his fingers brushed against something living.

He paused as he felt his hand press against an arm. He brought his other hand higher, and felt through a forest of thin hair.

The body was stiff, and unmoving.

"Akihi-"  
The lightning flashed, and the boy's eye caught a glint of something shiny and silver. ___Damn it! _He thought, as the man slashed his tiny hand with the sharp blade of the knife.

"Get away from me!" His warning for outdid the volume of the thunder, and in a second, the blond hopped to his feet, and sprinted towards the living room, towards the door.

___Shit!_ Grabbing his bloodied hand, the boy chased after the knife wielding lunatic who desperately needed his medication.

The door swung open, allowing the dying storm to edge its way into the house. Takaba had darted outside onto the long, walk way leading out into the street. The boy was fast though, and with the light provided by their outside light, he was able to catch the running specter.

He jumped on his legs, pulling him down. They both crashed onto the pavement, and the knife flew out of Takaba's hand. The boy took the opportunity to throw it into the street. Takaba tried to go after it, but the golden eyed child jumped on top of him, and used what little strength he could muster to keep the older man at bay.

"Akihito!" he shouted at the struggling man, "Calm down!"

His pleading went unnoticed by the blond, as the storm, even in death, shouted louder than the boy could. He struggled with the man, pulling at his wet clothing to prevent him from running into the street, and grabbing the knife.

"Let go of me Asami!"Bellowed Takaba, as he jeered his fist into the boy's ribcage.

The youth bit his lip hard enough to draw blood at the impact, and his eyes watered with the steady rain. His breath hitched, and he fought to stay in control. But already, the blood loss from his hand was causing his grip to loosen, and holding Akihito with just one hand was impossible.

"Aki-Akihito! I'm not Asami!" He lied, and wrapped his arms tightly around the blond's torso, and buried his head in the blonds stomach. He did the only thing he could do now.

He spoke.

"I'm just Kyoshi! We're friends remember! We knew each other in the hospital?" A final flash of lightning tore through the dark clouds, and the thunder followed seconds later. It rumbled the earth, and with the dying storm, the photographer's struggles began to subside.

Kyoshi lay atop of the panting photographer, his bone crushing hug unyielding. Drops of rain dribbled on them like saw dust. Kyoshi closed his eyes, and inhaled Akihito's damp scent.

The photographer brought a hand to the boy's wait hair, and buried his fingers in the damp strands.

"I'm sorry..."

"I know...but let's go inside," Kyoshi pushed off of Akihito, and hissed as pain erupted in his body, "Look, the power's back on...you can sleep in my room until I fix your light."

The photographer sat up, and a weary look painted his features. He simply nodded.

Kyoshi helped him up with his healthy hand, and held the photographer's until they went back inside. Even in his calm state, he didn't fully trust Akihito to stay beside him.

He first directed the man to the restroom, and turned on the faucet to its warmest. The photographer was shivering as the draft from indoors assaulted his wet skin.

In silence, the boy helped him undress, and settled him into the tub. Takaba still shook even as the warm water tingled his exposed skin.

Bruises, they covered his thin body. Kyoshi didn't ask a lot of questions, because he figured it wasn't his business. He hardly knew anything about Takaba. The only thing they had in common was that they had been in the same hospital three years ago. Then Kyoshi had stumbled into Takaba's room. He didn't eat, didn't speak, or sleep. There were bandages all over him. They covered his arms, his thighs, his torso, everything.

All day, he just stared. He seemed lost. Kyoshi was lost too. So they both stared together.

Kyoshi didn't know much about himself either. However, he did know that his last name ___was _Asami, and that at any given time during the day, his golden eyes, pale skin, and dark hair sent Akihito into hysterics.

But why, he did not know. He did not ask. He simply just lived.

But living wasn't doing him all that good now a days, because without medication, Aki's tantrums turned violent, and Kyoshi feared that when he grew older, he would look exactly like ___that _Asami Takaba hated so much.

Perhaps then, he'd kill him in his sleep. Kyoshi didn't know who his parents were.

The only piece of evidence he had that let him know he was Kyoshi Asami was the hospital band that he had left the hospital with. He didn't know why he was admitted in the hospital, or who put him there.

In fact, it was as if his memory from age zero to three had been altered.

That was another reason he needed Akihito. Something in Kyoshi's little head told him that the former photographer was the key to his memory.

Takaba had been paid with nearly everything he had, and this torn down home was a result of the little money he had left. Kyoshi followed him when he left.

Since then, they'd lived like this. Takaba grew worse over the years though, and it was hard for him to keep a job, plus, hospital bills were piling up. He used to be a photographer, but with his unstable mind, it was impossible. Takaba grew depressed, as he could no longer do what he loved.

So Kyoshi began to steal to pay the bills, and to put food on the table. Takaba did what he could, but his social awkwardness...it never helped.

He was afraid of the dark, and terrified of men. Unfortunately, that was what the world was made of, the dark and men.

Akihito was afraid of the world, so Kysohi stole so the blond could stay inside, hidden and safe. Takaba needed a doctor for his brain, but they hadn't the money.

___Maybe i'll go pick pocket some pig in Shinjuku, _he thought to himself, as he helped Takaba out of the tub and onto the bathroom rug. He cast a glance towards the pale thighs, and quickly looked away as his gaze landed on the bruises that painted them.

Why did he have so many bruises on his thighs? Why did he have so many bruises on his body?

Surely, if Akihto wouldn't tell Kyoshi (but Kyoshi never even asked, he was too afraid to), then perhaps he'd tell a doctor?

But what on earth could he steal? What would cover the cost of a good psychiatrist?

Kyoshi didn't know, but he was still determined.

**Update! Just in case you're confused, Kyoshi is 6 years old. **

**And there you have it. There are many, _many _unanswered questions. I'm well aware of that, and hopefully I get back to this story. Like I said, depending on the feedback I get, I may continue it, if not...ehh, i'll just work on my other stories, and probably take this one down altogether. However, I've always wanted to write a story like this, and I finally did. Anyway, have a nice summer, and God bless. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for the feeback! This will be my 3rd chapter of this on ao3, and my 2nd on fanfiction. However, I would like to address the reviewers who were stumped regarding Asami's character. I warned you, I did. This wasn't going to be a pretty story. **

**I do acknowledge that yes, I have drawn Asami out as a monster, and a vicious one at that. One of you pointed out that you believed I was drawing out too much of Asami's character from the first arc. Be that as it may, it _is _Asami's character, and his ruthlesness towards other people. If anything, that was some of the _best _characterization I've seen from Asami, because it showed how cruel he can be, and how cruel he is. That pain, and that torture was the basis of the manga, it made the manga. So yes, I am pulling from the first arc very much. **

**Also keep in mind, he believes that Akihito has killed his son. I know you may want him to be punished with a tiny slap on the wrist, but that isn't how reality works. Unfortunately, the VF series lacks a lot of reality, at least now. **

**With what was said previously, you may wonder why Asami believes Aki killed his son, and I'll explain that as the story goes on. I enjoy putting characters in obtuse situations that the manga will never explore. That is why this website is called fanfiction, because fans explore the possibility. And while you may believe that Asami is not in character, due to the fact that his son has been killed, I believe I drew his character out very well. Losing the ones we love usually tends to cause us to go insane, and in Asami's case, he "was" a father, so it hits home for him. **

**What would you expect Asami to do? **

**Either way, if you continue to read this story, it will only get ugly before it gets better, so for your own sake, I advise you to stop reading it, and stop wasting your time. **

**Regarding his age, and his maturity, i'm basing some of his character off of six year old's that I've encountered, and how I was (as well as those around me), when I was six. We were doing chores, yard work, ect. Not to mention, we were reading _ a lot. _I've worked with many children, and seen remarkable signs of intelligence at varied ages.**

**And finally, no body is making you read this. If you know you won't like it,if you have never liked my angsty stories, than you probably won't like this one. **

**To those of you who have read it, and enjoyed it, I have an ending planned, and it shouldn't be long away. **

**Luckily, I have an ending already down, and if i'm consistent, it will be completed by the end of the summer. **

**Once again, this is self beta'd, so I hope you enjoy it! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the VF. **

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Sometimes, Kyoshi believed it reasonable to assume that there was more than one person living inside of Akihito's head. He was well aware that making assumptions without any knowledge, or evidence to back a claim was usually rendered...well...stupid, but Akihito had been showing signs of having multiple personalities, or trauma, or something.

Presently, Kyoshi sat at the small breakfast table in their small dinning room, and peered into their tiny kitchen. Akihito moved like a well trained housewife as he worked skillfully above the stove.

It was very rare for the photographer to treat him to breakfast like this, let a lone, leave his room.

Occasionally, he would reach into the cabinets, and sprinkle some salt, or pepper into one of the large pans. Here and there, he'd leave the boiling pots on the stove and and take a sip of his lukewarm tea that sat on the counter (and Kyoshi could tell it was lukewarm, because the steam had resided minutes ago), only to return to his work in progress, where it violently began hissing for his attention.

Kyoshi returned his gaze to the surface of the wooden table, where Akihito had prepared him a cup of hot chocolate. Beside it, lay scattered newspapers.

The rain from last nights rainstorm had draped a small bought of humidity about the weather, so Kyoshi refrained from drinking the hot beverage, and instead asked for a cup of water. Akihito had supplied him with that, and returned to the kitchen.

Now Kyoshi sipped on the stale liquid, and looked at the newspapers on the table. They had been flipped to the back page, filled with many words and columns. Here and there, Kyoshi would notice a large, red circle around a specific bundle of information.

They were jobs. Akihito was job searching again.

Kyoshi sighed, and took one of the papers in hand. The jobs ranged from easy things, like cleaning jobs, and cashier jobs, to hard and complex things, like photography. He looked up at the photographer once more, who poured a gracious amount of rice into another pain, followed by a few cups of water.

Looking back at the paper, Kyoshi felt a bit of sadness swell up inside of his stomach.

At times like this, when he was reading the newspaper, and Akihito was in the kitchen, cooking like a normal human being, Kyoshi would close his eyes, and imagine that they were living a normal life.

He would imagine that they weren't late on their bills, that they weren't poor, that Akihito wasn't sick, and that maybe a really nice lady would come through the doors with groceries, smile at Akihito, and Kyoshi, and say aloud, "I'm home." After she said that, she would go into the kitchen, and kiss Akihito on the lips, hug him, or do whatever married couples did.

Then she would turn to Kyoshi, and kiss him on the cheek. He would be able to smell her fruity perfume, feel her luscious hair bouncing off of his face as she knelt down and caressed his face. Her nails would be bright red, and her heels would be tall, and click with every step she took.

And he would be happy because he had a mother.

And Akihito would be happy because he had a wife.

And all three of them would be happy because they had a family.

"Here you go Kyo," the photographer had managed to sneak up on the young boy, "Breakfast is ready."

Kyoshi looked up as Akihito placed bowl of rice next to him, and another steaming bowl of miso soup. Carefully, he made sure to give the child eating utensils as well.

When finished, Takaba took a seat on the open chair, and began to read the newspapers.

"Aren't you gonna eat?" Questioned Kyoshi.

Akihito smiled, "Oh, I'm not hungry."

Kyoshi nodded, and returned to his food. The soup was slightly watered down, and the rice was hard, but for Akihito's sake, he forced down the hot contents without so much as an upward glance.

With a small burp, Kyoshi had finished his meal. The sound of silverware clacking against the bowls gathered Akihito's attention. The blond looked up from the newspaper.

"Wow! You ate that much in such a short amount of time?"

Kyoshi smiled, "Yeah. But it's because it was so good, Aki! You should really eat some!"

Takaba smiled, leaned over the table, and ruffled the brunet's head, "I told you that I'm alright, okay."  
Kyoshi nodded, though his eyes saw right through Akihito's lie. He wondered if the photographer knew just how bad their situation exactly was.

Akihito would not get the job, he'd lose courage the moment he stepped out of the house. Out of fear, Akihito was bound to their "home", he was bound to Kyoshi.

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Like a fly scampering away at the very moment it was noticed by the human eye, the slick black car darted away and into an alley as Kyoshi turned his careless gaze towards it. This not being the first time he'd come into visual contact with the vehicle, he wasn't overly surprised by their daily hide-and-seek tactics.

In fact, it was better that the dark cars that followed him stayed at eyes reach, rather than arms reach. He was being monitored for a reason, yes, but he had no intention of confronting the living beings that resided within the cars. As far as he was concerned, the cars themselves _were_ living, and breathing.

They followed him whenever he went out into public, and scampered away once he took notice of them.

Not only that, but they assured him that his life was not at all what he believed it was, and that there was some purpose waiting out there for him. He just hoped it wasn't as dark as the mysterious cars that followed him.

He began his morning commute to the library, walking through his old neighborhood, and out onto the street. Living outside of Tokyo, he was spared the large buildings, and loud people. However, he still did get an occasional view of the city.

He learned to dislike the great wold of Tokyo, and more importantly, the men who ruled Shinjuku. Kyoshi was certain that they could at least lend a little money to those in need, but no, they were to self absorbed, and wanted to use their money to by guns and shit.

As Kyoshi walked to the library, he kicked a pebble into the road as a sign of obvious discomfort.

Sometimes these thoughts would keep him awake at night, and even drive him crazy as he fought to figure out what they meant. Had the vehicles not been so afraid of him, and had he not been afraid of them, than Kyoshi would have no problem knocking on the window, and asking them why the hell he was being monitored.

He wasn't an idiot, and he knew it had to do with his lost past.

But why on earth were they holding back? And who the hell were they? Sighing, Kyoshi reminded himself that there was no such thing as telepathy, and no such thing as mind readers, so thinking about it, and getting angry about it would not help him.

He just hoped that his visit to the library would be enough to cool his temper.

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When he first came here, to the library, three years ago with Akihto who was desperate for a phone, he was instantly attracted to the large, colorful books that were directed towards children. While one of the librarians attempted to calm Akihito, who at the time, was suffering from a nervous breakdown, another librarian tended to Kyoshi, and kept him engaged in the colorful pages, and big bubble words while they dealt with his caretaker.

Kyoshi's love for books began there, and though he never remembered being taught how to read, the words came quicker and easier to him then it seemed to come to other children.

So when Akihito held a stable job, and had enrolled Kyoshi in a public school during fall, he became a frequent visitor to the library.

He became "friends" with the librarian, a young woman who looked a little older than Akihito. Her brown hair was always braided, and her clothing always consisted of a medium sized dress and a sweater. Her name was Minowa-san.

When he turned four, he was an avid reader, and read just about anything he could get his hands on. Minowa tried to stop him from delving into the adult section, but clearly Kyoshi was unlike any other child she'd met. He was eager, so she found herself helping him.

From children books about magic and adventure, to books about history and language, to adults books filled with scandal and deceit, the young Kyoshi devoured all that he was able too.

And for a while, he did so out of hobby. However, when Akihito lost more jobs than Kyoshi could count on his two hands, and in amount of months that Kyoshi _could _count on one hand, reading became more of a demand rather than a hobby. When Akihito could no longer take care of himself or Kyoshi at that fact, and when small signs of insanity began to show in the photographer, Kyoshi had to read to care for things that Akihito no longer could.

Thank goodness for the _For Dummies _series, because had it not been invented and imported into Japan, Kyoshi would have had trouble fixing what he could. Minowa introduced it to him when she believed he needed help for a project.

Unfortunately, there was no _For Dummies _book on fixing a leak, and after a small talk with Minowa, Kyoshi had come to the conclusion that they would need to hire a plumber if they wanted their ceiling to stay up. That was just another thing on Kyoshi's long list of things to do.

But the root of it all was money, money that he didn't have.

There came the next problem. Money, and it wasn't as if stealing from the people in his shabby area would support him in anyway. If anything, they had less than them.

He knew where he had to go, because he had gone there many times before. But last time, he nearly got caught. He never did fancy venturing into Shinjuku.

With his worn out clothing and his unkempt hair, he stuck out in the world of the privileged like a sore thumb, and was immediately labeled as a thief. And as thieves grew in numbers, pick-pocketing grew scarce.

With a sigh, he let his head fall onto the wooden table he sat at, and successfully made a thud loud enough to disturb the readers around him. They scowled at him, and he returned the gaze tenfold. He was in a dilemma, and they needed to understand.

"Is something the matter, Kyoshi-kun?" Asked Minowa, as she bent down next to him, "Is there anything else you need?"

"No, sorry Minowa-san, I've just got a headache, that's all," lied Kyoshi, quickly ignoring the blush that crept on his cheeks, "I-i'm alright."

Minowa nodded and went to tend to the others. Kyoshi sighed as the warm feeling in his gut dwindled away. He wondered what it was, but he was certain that Minowa triggered it whenever she came near him. Maybe she was sick and was infecting him. It hadn't been like this up until recently, as the mere sight of her made his blood boil.

His mind wandered back to Akihito, and the fact that if the photographer felt intimidated or frightful enough, that he may very well kill Kyoshi. And then what after that? Who would take care of Akihito, where would he go?

Kyoshi cared less about himself and more about Takaba. He didn't know why, but he just did...it was like this urge to shelter him from the world.

He couldn't ask Minowa to help, she didn't understand.

It was ironic, how the child wanted to protect the grown-up, but Kyoshi knew that when he walked through the shabby doors that led to his house, the rolls would reverse, and he would be lucky if Akihito even remembered him.

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With the money lent to him by Minowa, he'd caught a quick bus ride into the city. The only good thing about Shinjuku was it's large population, and the chances of getting caught in the act of thievery were thin. If someone spotted Kyoshi, he could easily run into the crowd, and shake off his pursuers.

However, it appeared that the people were more guarded today than normal. Not to mention, the common thieves, like Kyoshi, were fighting for territory.

Thieves were like hyenas. When when thieves found the dough, a hundred more thieves suddenly sprung up out of no where, and tried to man the area in which the "dough" was discovered. It was annoying, and cheap.

But Kyoshi couldn't complain, he was just like any other thief that nicked things around Tokyo.

It was sort of like a cult, or a ugly city hidden in plain sight. Thieves could be anyone who had a passion for living, but didn't have the personal means. But nowadays, the desired thief was a young boy or girl who was thin and agile, who could dive their hands into someone's pocket and out, just quick enough to get away when they were noticed.

Some thieved for themselves, some thieved for others, like Kyoshi. If you were Kyohsi, and thieved for more than one person, you aimed to be stationed at a "large" territory. Usually, those were in front of businesses or restaurants, or any sort of place where the wealthy gathered.

Kyoshi has a place in mind, and had he not been so desperate, he would have immediately crossed if off his list.

But Club Sion was where the richest man in Tokyo was said to reside in. Kyoshi had no idea what he looked like, nor did he know much about him, but he was just hoping that Mr. Sion would walk out of his 1000 story building so that Kyohsi could just rob him, and just get it over with.

After a while of asking around, he'd been directed to the building. Occasionally, pedestrians would toss in, "What business does a boy like you have at Club Sion?" He just ignored them, and continued on his way. He needed to make it there before any other sniveling thief claimed the territory for themselves.

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It was noon, the lunch hour. Kyoshi stood, hidden behind the large steps near the entrance of Club Sion. His breathing had increased tremendously and he bit his lip to prevent himself from shaking out of fear. He felt like a thousand invisible eyes were glued to his back, watching his each and every movement.

A rustle of the decorative plants behind him caused him to jump. The soft howl of the wind nearly caused him to shout.

Every tiny noise set him off edge. Maybe he should just go, he was too scared. He'd blow it if he even-

"Psst!" the sharp hiss from behind him caused him to yelp, and quickly he turned around. Crouched down, low to the ground was a boy who was a little older then him. Like Kyoshi, the boy adorned faded clothes, unkempt hair and a pale complexion. Hunger did that to people.

"What do you want idiot? Shut up and go somewhere else before-"

The door clicked open, and Kyoshi stopped speaking. The familiar thief took this as his opportunity to strike back.

"Move it Kyoshi, I need groceries and the wallet I stole last week isn't gonna pay for them. This is my territory!"  
"Fuck off Kazu, I was here first," spat the younger boy at the older thief, "Go rob a bank or something, this one's mine!"

Before Kazu could protest, a large man wearing a very expensive suit stepped out of the doorway. In a swift motion, he had maneuvered himself so that he stood behind the door that he presently held open.

His back pocket was inches away from them.

"Move out of the way you little shit!" Hissed Kazu, as he grabbed for a bunch of Kyoshi's hair, "He's mine!"  
Out stepped another man. This one was taller, and more built than the first one. He looked like a bear.

"Get off!" Kyoshi clawed at the hand tearing at his head, and continue to reach forward, "I got here-"  
"Thief! This kid's trying to steal from you sir!" Cried Kazu, thus successfully garnering the attention from the two men, "I saw him crawling up the-"

"You ass wipe!" Kyoshi turned around and punched Kazu square in the jaw, and seconds later made to run away. However, a rough, large hand twisted into the fabric of his shirt, and pulled him atop of the steps. Thrashing like a wild animal, Kyoshi managed to dislodge himself from the man's grasp, and fall onto the concrete steps with a thud.

The pain shot through his tailbone like a hot bullet, and he nearly cried as he tried to steady himself. With his eyes full of tears, he was blind to the man who stood before him.

He was suddenly aware that the man who had ruff housed him was no longer making an attempt to grab at him, rather, he was standing still, very still.

Suddenly, the scent of thick smoke filled Kyoshi's nostrils. It wasn't like that cheap kind he smelled around his neighborhood, or in buses or anything like that. This smoke smelled...good.

With a small cough and the tears near vanished from his sight, Kysohi looked up at the man above him. A gentle breeze blew past the small group, and for a split second, golden eyes met with golden eyes, and both Asamis looked at a loss for words.

Kyoshi thought he was looking at his future self, but alas, for all he knew, this man could want his head on a plate for attempting to steal from him.

Biting back the pain in his butt, Kyoshi sprung up from his position on the steps, turned around and sprinted.

With each step, a dull throb ached throughout his back and down to the regions of his tailbone.

What was Kazu's problem? It seemed like he was having more frequent run-ins with the familiar thief. Was business really getting that tough for Kyoshi's kind?

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It had been about an hour after the incident, and Kyoshi could hardly walk straight. He hoped to God that he didn't fracture his tail bone, but he was pretty sure he had. And to make matters worse, he didn't have a cent in his pocket.

Limping like a kicked puppy, Kyoshi managed to make his way into the shady part of Tokyo. Since it was a little after the lunch hour, there weren't a lot of people out. A few men and women would make their way out of bars and resturants, but other than that, nothing.

There was no one to steal from

Stupid Kazu. What did he have against Kyoshi anyway. For as long as the young boy could remember, whenever he was close to stealing something big, Kazu was right behind him. It was like that idiot stalked him. In the midst of his anger, his mind fluttered back to the man who bore the same colored eyes as he.

They were dark and golden, calculating and cruel. However, they had a sense of loss about them, almost despair and anguish. Aside from having the same eyes Kyoshi did, he looked oddly familiar, but Kyoshi just couldn't put his finger on it.

With a sigh, he slid down the brick wall of a small bar he'd vacated outside of. Maybe some drunk idiot would stumble out and make it easy for Kysohi to steal from them.

If only.

Leaning his head against the warm stone, Kysohi closed his eyes. Maybe after a short nap, he'd go and try to steal again.

Sometime after he had fallen into a light slumber, the door to the bar had slammed on the wall inches away from his head, as an angry pedestrian stormed out of the shop. Kyoshi yelped as he was woken up by the loud noise. Angry, he made to hurl an insult at the stranger. "Watch where-"  
He stopped mid-sentence as the man came into his full view. Tall, muscular, and blond, the foreigner cast an ugly look over his shoulder, towards Kyoshi at the sound of the boy's complaint. Mumbling something in another language, the man turned around, and began to walk away.

That was when Kyoshi saw it.

Sticking slightly out of his back pocket, just visible enough so that Kyoshi could see the corner, was a brown, leather wallet. If Kyoshi was fast, he could snatch it and get away. If he ignored the pain in his tailbone, he could go even faster.

Kyoshi bit his lip. This man looked ferocious, like a rapid goat, and if provoked, could probably punch a hole through a living person.

But he needed the money.

Swallowing his fears, Kyoshi sprung to his feet and up towards the man's pocket. In a quick motion, he had gone into his pocket, and taken out the very thick wallet.

"_Suka!" _Hissed the angry blond as Kyoshi bolted away. The boy cast a glance back, and nearly doubled over as _more _angry goats walked out of the restaurant and came running his way.

The pain in his tailbone was greater than he had predicted. Footsteps echoed behind him. He needed to get to a populated area before the pain grew unbearable.

He ran and ran, and the footssteps got louder and louder. Quickly, he looked into the wallet, and began blindly grabbing at money, a lot of it. He'd just throw the wallet back and maybe they wouldn't notice anything was missing.

However, upon discovery of the paper in his hand, he nearly screamed at the documents. This wasn't yen, this was anything but yen! What the hell was this? The writing was weird, it was like arches and weird circles combined. The faces on the money did not belong to any historical Asian figures that Kyoshi could remember. In fact, these men were Caucasian.

This language...was it Russian? Kyoshi had skimmed across it in the library once, but never put off the time to actually learn it like he'd done with English.

Why on earth were there Russians in Japan? What if they were spies? Had Kyoshi just stolen from the Sovie-  
A thud to his forehead stopped him immediately, and another pain radiated throughout Kyoshi's body as he fell to the ground. In his attempt to discern the meaning of the paper currency in his hand, he hadn't looked ahead of him to see where he was going. Unfortunately, he'd managed to wedge his way into some sort of alley, and had hit his head on the wall.

Disoriented, and in pain, Kyoshi tried his best to stand up, but he did so to no avail. The documents from the wallet fell to the ground beside Kyoshi, and in the midst of the money, there indeed was a small amount of yen. Reaching out his hand, the small boy grabbed the Japanese currency, and uncovered another piece of paper as he did so.

It was a driver's liscence, or some sort of identification. Thank goodness the name was in English, because everything else was in arches.

_Mikhail Arbatov..._Yes, they were defiantly Russian, they had to be, no other race had such a strange, obtuse spelling. He didn't even know how to pronounce the name.

Thinking he shook them off, Kyoshi stood with trembling feet, only to fall to the ground again. "Damnit" he hissed, he wasn't going anywhere like this.

Akihito would still be home, alone just waiting for Kyoshi to show up.

The boy felt like screaming, he felt like crying! The pain in his body was so bad that he could hardly move. Did he break his head when he hit the wall?

Loud footsteps echoed throughout the alley, the foreign language bounced off of the walls and came rushing towards Kyoshi's ears.

The boy paled. They were coming...The Russians were coming.

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His stocks were slipping faster than the amber liquid in his tiny glass disappeared. Built upon sand, yet layered with stone much to heavy to uphold, Mikhail Arbatov's family business was slowly eroding away.

Half of it was his fault, as he knowingly allowed moles to infiltrate his organization like water slipping through his fingers. He gambled away at his savings like a spoiled heir, and he allowed himself to be tricked into losing nearly everything.

Mikhail reminded himself very much of the prodigal son, yet, it was not his father who he sought redemption from. It was not his father in which he sought refuge to.

Like a kicked puppy, Mikhail came crawling to his former enemy. The top dog of Japan. He was the only one who was generous enough to offer the hot-headed heir business of any sort.

He could have tried to ask Fei Long, but Fei wasn't too keen on the Russian and his unwanted advances, not to mention, it would be a blow to the Russians already wounded pride if he came grovelling to Fei. Had he come grovelling, would the Chinese man offer any sort of assistance? Most likely not, and when Fei Long caught wind that Mikhail was establishing routes with Asami, he would seriously flip shit.

The idiot still loved that bastard Asami. It hurt Mikhail to even ponder upon the discovery, but it was true. In his attempt to forget about his life, he'd only invited Asami into it.

And for good measure, it had been Asami who had reached out to Mikhail in the first place, somehow _very _aware of the treason occurring within Mikhail's organization. That sadist wanted Mikhail on his knees long ago, he wanted his territory. In the past, Mikhail would have been on guard constantly, he would have no time for negligence or anything of the sort.

But years of chasing skirts, gambling, running a mafia, and hounding around the one person whom he loved dearly, yet could have was driving Mikhail crazy. He was tired and had no idea what he was living for.

Hollow and drained of dedication, he had allowed spies to seep into the cracked foundation of his home, and now he was paying for it with a loss of money, and a loss of dedication.

For as long as he could remember, he had been excellent at out running life and outrunning his problems. But life had now caught up with him.

At least Asami was generous enough to provide him with a hotel to stay in during his time in Japan as well as offer stable trading routes. He hated to admit it, but he was now that man's underdog, he was his puppet.

To make matters worse, the alcohol that he was drinking did a terrible job at getting him drunk, and if anything made him angrier. The bar had been cleared out the moment Mikhail had entered it, thus his men only remained in the small room.

They played pool, they drank, they spoke and remained completely oblivious to the war that was being fought within the mind of their boss.

Their happiness was intoxicating, and did a far better job than the alcohol at setting off his fuse. Their carefree attitudes were enough ignite the rage that boiled within his gut. He was submerged in their glee, he was trapped.

He needed to get out. He couldn't breathe. He needed to get out. He was suffocating.

In quick motion, he was on his feet, pushing through the crowd of his workers, and nearly throwing the door off of it's hinges as he escaped the cesspool of positivity.

He was surprised that the glass hadn't shattered at the sheer impact of the wall it had hit when he'd forced it open. Out of the bar, he was unsure of what to do. Should he scream, should he kick something, should he-

"Watch where..."

Sitting against the wall was a young boy who looked to be a little on the poor side. His unkempt hair obscured his eyes from Mikhail, though the Russian man's stern scoff and beastly growl sent the boy's complaint into a halting silence. Whipping his head forward, the tall blond decided he would just take a walk down the street, that's all. He needed to calm his-

A quick pressure in his jean pocket had told him all he needed to know. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed that the small boy had vacated the wall, and a pat to his back pocket told Mikhail why.

"_Suka!" _He cursed at the youth, who ran down the street with his wallet.

At the sound of their boss' distress, his men had finally made themselves useful, and decided to meet him outside.

But Mikhail was already down the alley.

Behind the youth flew a trail of foreign money, and at realization of where the currency came from, the men followed their boss in his pursuit.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The terrified child had led the Russians into a series of sharp turns and curves, and had baited them into a concrete maze that ran behind the tall buildings of Tokyo. Mikhail had commanded his men to fan out throughout the concrete city in order to spot the child.

However, the trail of scattered rubles made it incredibly easy for the boy to be tracked.

His insolence had lead Mikhail right to him, and like a cowering dog, the boy had found himself with his back pressed against a wall.

With slow steps, the Russian approached the smaller form as a few of his men followed behind him. Through the shadows, he noticed the brunette's face twisted in some sort of pain. He figured he should feel sorry for the boy, because in some way, shape or form they were the same.

Money was hard to come by now a days for everyone it seemed. Still, there was no justice from a thief stealing from an even bigger thief.

Mikhail wasn't below rough housing the child for stealing his possessions. In fact, that's exactly what he intended to do. Perhaps if his day wasn't as shitty as it was, the boy would be let off what a stratch or something of the sort. But Mikhail felt like being a bully today. At least he would feel like he was in some control.

"You do know stealing isn't good, don't you? Or has your malnourished brain forgotten to register that as a fact," he spoke English, because the boy below him certainly did not understand Russian. His words harsh, his tone even harsher, but he meant it to be like that. Imposing fear meant imposing control.

Control was something Mikhail didn't have much of anymore.

"I-I ju-just needed some sp-" The boy was yanked up by the collar before he could finish his explanation. The money fell off of the small lap and onto the floor, it clanged as it bounced on the concrete. The child closed his eyes tightly, and the hair that covered his eyes parted as he was roughly lifted.

Fear, he saw it. The trembling body, the twitching eyes behind closed eye lids, it was all there. The feeling of superiority rumbled within the Russian.

"I suppose I'll have to reinforce your common sense than, won't I?"

The school yard bully supported his claim as he sent a sharp punch into the boy's stomach. The child gasped, and golden eyes snapped open and watered with tears.

Out of shock—not fear—the Russian dropped the child into the pile of rubles. Those eyes sparkled as much as their dull counterpart darkened and Mikhail found himself at a loss for words.

He looked like the spitting image of Asami, but his sources had told him of the child's death years ago. Not to mention, Asami's distant attitude had confirmed it. The man was not the man he used to be.

The crying child took Mikhail's daze as an opportunity to run, though slower than before. When the henchmen made to catch him, Mikhail ordered them to let the boy pass.

This was getting interesting. He would follow.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kyoshi couldn't breath, and at the first chance he got, he fell to his knees behind a building and barfed. The air in his stomach had been knocked out of his system, his head was throbbing painfully, and he swore that his tailbone was fractured.

Hot tears mixed with vomit and saliva on the concrete ground. He panted and wheezed as he attempted to get his consume life saving oxygen.

The vacant feeling within his gut made him feel as if he was on the brink of death.

_Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! _Screaming internally, the boy cried out an unintelligent noise.

He had no money, no food, just more problems. If his tailbone was fractured, he would need to see a doctor before it got worse. If he had a concussion, he would need to see a doctor before he turned out crazier than Akihito.

Who the hell was going to pay for that on top of the late bills, and Akihito's much needed medication? If Kyoshi was broken, no body could get anything. They'd take him to an orphanage, and Akihito would be taken away from him for good!

The tears began to fall faster than the vomit had seconds ago, and it took all Kyoshi had not to fall into the mess he'd made. The suffocating sensation was spreading, and for the first time in his short life, he hoped he was dying. This was getting to be too much, and he didn't want to live another day if it meant failing Akihito.

He couldn't stand to see the pain in the photographer's face if the two had to be separated. It would kill them both.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

When he woke, it was drizzling softly around Tokyo. Many sensible people had gone home, or gotten umbrellas and coats. But no, not Kyoshi. He'd passed out straight in his own vomit. Luckily for him, the weather mirrored his personality, thus he was able to wash himself off as he took the long walk back to his house.

With his slow, agonizing steps, he realized that he'd become numb to the pain in his body, and supposed that later on, it would come back ten fold. Oh well, he'd just have to strengthen his urge to ignore the hurting sensation. At least the pain in his hand that had been give to him by Akihito had died down considerably. Hopefully his other injuries could do the same.

Suddenly, the corner of his eye caught a dark shiny object. Now on the sidewalk, he could see the cars in the street beside him. The black one caught his eye once more, but than again, there were many more black, emotionless vehicles lined up behind it.

When the light turned green, the vehicles would disappear into the rain, and when the light turned red, they would stop again.

It was an endless cycle. It happened without end. Much like the rain that splattered on the concrete below him. Though, he reminded himself of the cars that seemed to go down the endless road. Yet he yearned to be like the rain. The rain had a beginning, and It had a certain ending. Quick and painful. That's what the rain promised, a quick and painful death. It was unavoidable, it was going to happen in a span of seconds. The second the thought of death crept into his mind would be the second that death would take him before he could complain.

But no, he was just a car. The rain teased the cars, and it mocked them because _they _had to continue living, because _they _just couldn't give up yet.

It was an endless cycle.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

By the time he got inside of his home, the rain was pelting down upon his tiny figure. In fear that the Russians may have been after him, he'd forced himself to run hours ago and was now so tired, he was not at all sure how he was still walking. He didn't even bother to lock the door or remove his wet shoes. He would be the one cleaning the floor in the morning anyway.

_Drip...drip..drip..drip_

The damn leak. With a grunt, Kyoshi walked into the kitchen, and nearly jumped when he spotted Akihito at the table, still reading the newspaper. Kyoshi left over eight hours ago. He would have thought that Takaba would have retreated to his room.

At the sound of tiny footsteps, the photographer looked towards the boy.

"Kyo! Look at you, you're all dirty! What the hell happened?" He sounded and looked very concerned, and for a slightly minute, Kyoshi believed that he could just shake off his pain and go to sleep peacefully for once.

But something changed in Akihito's gaze. Something distantand afraid.

Then Kysohi noticed it.

In the rain, he'd been running. His bangs had parted and grown heavy with water, thus opening a perfect view so that anyone could see his eyes.

Akihito was gravely disturbed by his eyes.

"Aki, it's okay-"

The photographer was up and on the defensive side. He no longer recognized Kyoshi as a small child.

Kyoshi sighed, "Akihito just calm down."

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down when you treat me like trash Asami!" snarled the photographer, "I'm tired of putting up with your shit!"

Kyoshi took a painful breath and stepped back. He hated when Akihito yelled at him.

However, despite his fear, he tried to keep his voice leveled, "I'm going up-"  
"Why the hell do you ignore me whenever I try to say something, or you just change the damn subject, am I that insignificant to you!"

Kyoshi was silent. He didn't know what to say to that.

"Dammit Asami answer me!" His scream tore through the silence louder than the clashing clouds, and the sheer agony within his command caused Kyoshi to jump.

Thunder rumbled outside, and its sound was the only sound that responded to Takaba's plea.

"That's it than," Akihito's head fell, and he laughed a heartless chuckle. It was frigthening.

"I don't mean that much to you? Do I, Asami?"  
He turned around, and began walking into the kitchen, and shuffling through the drawers.

"Aki, what are you doing?" whispered a dumb Kyoshi, who followed the man into the kitchen, "what are you-"

The photographer reached for a knife.

He ran before he saw the full weapon. When his life depended on it, he would run as fast as possible. Unable to protect himself against Akihito and his rage now, Kyoshi ran up the stairs and nearly made it to his room, however, his shoes slipped on the smooth ground. Akihito was upon him in a second, and a streak of insanity shone within those terrified, watery eyes.

"I'll just have to get rid of you before you try to kill me again, right Asami?!" Bellowed the hysterical blond.

Kyoshi rolled his head to his left as Akihito stabbed for the right, and as Akihito lifted the knife again, the small boy muffed him in the face.

Without a second's hesitation, he sprung to his feet and ran towards his door.

He was feet away, just feet away from life!

But his shoes were too wet, his movements were too sluggish, and the pain came back tenfold. The boy collapsed beside his room, and as the shadow loomed over him, he feared Akihito more than he ever had.

His heart was beating faster than it ever had. His mouth was agape. This was it. This was really it.

The knife plunged down, and Kyoshi closed his large eyes.

What little memories he had flashed before his lids as he waited for the final blow. He just hoped that the police would understand that Akihito wasn't a bad person, that he needed help!

However, the plow never came, and the sound of the knife falling to the ground followed by an even largeer thud caused him to open his eyes again.

Firstly, there was no knife wielding Akihito anywhere, no blood, no screaming, nothing. No, Akihito was on the floor, knocked out and snoring lightly.

Secondly, there was a man standing just feet away from where Akihito was seconds ago. A very tall, very blond, goat looking man.

What the hell?

"Y-you...How did you get in my house! Go away!" With heavy steps, the boy forced himself to his feet, and made to attack the Russian, "Go away!"  
"You could at least be a little thankful, I mean I _did _just save your life," spoke Mikhail as he looked down at the boy who attacked his leg , "And what idiot doesn't lock their-Oh, I forgot, you lack commonsense. I suppose my beating could have...hey, what's wrong with you? Wake up."

But Kyoshi just couldn't. The pain came first, followed by the unbearable exhaustion. In minutes, the tiny child fell to Mikhail's feet.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
He watched the rain fall. The rain...here one second, gone the next.

Asami Ryuichi was very jealous of the rain. He yearned to be a single drop in an army of many weak and empty souls. An army of many falling to its quick, undeniable, unavoidable death without a seconds thought. No regrets. Asami wanted to live with no regrets.

But he was living the exact opposite.

A knock on the door should have disturbed him from his mourning, but if anything, it did the exact opposite. He became more enticed in the cycle below him.

"The trading routes with Mikhail Arabtov have been confirmed. Tomorrow he will look over the treaty you have proposed to him regarding his territory in other European areas aside from Russia. Also, Mikhail Arbatov never returned to the hotel you selected for him." Informed Kirishima.

"Is that so?" Replied Asami, who spoke with all the emotion of a lifeless corpse.

"Yes, Asami."

"Keep an eye on him."

"Yes, Asami."

The guard bowed and left the room.

Asami continued to look at the rain. It would be so easy to become one with the rain. To jump and splatter on the pavement.

But it would make no difference. He was already dead.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Suka means bitch in Russian. My friend would say it to me all the time, but I never knew what it meant until I asked. Rubles is just the money they use in Russia, like in America it's dollars and in Japan it's yen. Okay, and Kyoshi can speak English, but he's not like a master at it. Most of you may argue that he's too young to be bilingual, but he's not. I live in Texas, and because of the area i'm in, many children can speak Spanish and English by six.**

**Having the air knocked out of you is one of the worst feelings in the world. When I was younger, and my friends and I used to be Naruto geeks (I still am sorta), we would fight like ninja, and I got the air punched out of my more than once. So it hurts like hell. **

**Everyone just seems so depressed! I'm sorry about that, but I hardly think anyone would be happy. Sorry for the long wait! Anyway, how is everyone doing? I'm just curious, is everyone alright? Is everyone okay? I hope so, it's summer, so be safe. **

**Have a wonderful week, and God bless! **


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